


safe keeping

by frostbitebakery



Series: Mood Color Panties [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Collars, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Panic Attacks, Panties, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostbitebakery/pseuds/frostbitebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months have passed since they’ve been in the shop. Since Steve showed him the collar that’s lying in the wooden box on their dresser. Gold ring and buckle polished and shining, almost looking proud of him. White lace inviting him tenderly, waiting patiently because it knows he’s finally there. He's ready.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky familiarizes himself with his collar. One step at a time. It's not always easy.</p><p>Part 2 of the White trilogy</p>
            </blockquote>





	safe keeping

**Author's Note:**

> I am so happy that you guys enjoy this little series! Thank you so much for your comments, kudos, and bookmarks! (And tears. :D) <3
> 
> Credit for betaing goes to my stunning Enabler [thekingandthelionheart](http://thekingandthelionheart.tumblr.com/).  
> Credit for the amazing header goes to my other sweet Enabler [slaughterme-barnes](http://slaughterme-barnes.tumblr.com/).

 

It’s so different from what he thought they’d get for him. He imagined sturdy leather, dark colors, heavy buckles and rings. Sometimes, when reality has the misguided grace of turning up in his dreams, changing them into something else, something cruel and frightening, he dreams about heavy steel, sharp edges, a tight circle around his neck with no clasp, no chance of getting out, and would it get smaller? It’s getting smaller, isn’t it? And he can’t breathe and maybe Steve was right all along. Maybe he shouldn’t want-- Then he wakes up. Gasping for breath, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb Steve, who is lying beside him and sleeping soundly for once. His hand palms his neck, his right hand, not the metal one; he thinks he’ll scream if it touched him now.

Nothing but bare skin, a hint of stubble, a scar here and there from wounds _before_ or ones too deep that not even the serum bothered to take care of them all the way.

Stubbornness had won out in the end. Stubbornness and want, _need_ , to have something tangible, something he could touch, that wasn’t part of his body already. Something he could hold in his hands, that _Steve_ could hold in his hands and gently put on him and maybe caress the skin that would soon be covered, maybe kissing his hair, carding his fingers through it after the clasp is closed. Maybe calling him _good_.

Bucky shakes his head, eyes focusing again. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sweater sleeves pulled over his hands, elbows resting on his thighs. He doesn’t know how long he’s sat here already.

It’s across from him, lying in the open box on the dresser. White on white on white staring back at him. It looks soft and inviting, not frightening at all.

_“Do you want the box open or closed?”_

_“I… I don’t know...? Open? One less hurdle, right?”_

When Steve had come back the next day after their fight, Bucky had clenched his jaw so tightly he thought the bone would give up and crack. Steve’s eyes had been red and puffy, undecided whether they should look at Bucky or if a random spot on the carpet would be more forgiving.

Steve had stumbled over his words, his apologies, and “I’m so sorry, Bucky. I never meant--” and “I didn’t understand how _you_ see this word, what meaning it holds for you. And I let my definition overrule yours. I’m so sorry.”

It took a while still before they both were comfortable enough to seek out the shop.

Glass cases with spotlights highlighting the different collars, presenting them from their best angles, enticing and promising beauty and acceptance and the surety of belonging.

He saw what he expected. Dark leather, soft like melting butter, buckles and rings all around them. Some were blue, red, green, every color imaginable. Thick, thin. But also delicate gold chains, elaborate designs, dotted with stones and frail-looking tags.

He didn’t feel a connection to any of them.

Steve had gently nudged him then, taking his hand and guiding him to a far-away corner, eyes bright.

Bucky fidgets with the sleeves. He can hear Steve bustling around the apartment, cleaning what needs to be cleaned, washing dishes and doing laundry, because even if their life is crazier than other people’s, some things are the same.

Steve is giving him the space he needs to get familiar with the collar. On his own terms, at his own pace. He had wanted this so badly, still does, neck sometimes feeling cold and too bare, like there’s something missing, and no attention from Steve dedicated to it seems to be enough.

Still, he can’t let Steve put it on him right then and there. Too much, too soon. Even if everything in him screams to put it on, _now_ , there’s a pit in his stomach. Twisting languidly, waiting for a wrong move, ready to strike out at the smallest mistake, ready to drown and tear his mind apart.

So he’s working up to it. Makes himself comfortable having something snug around his neck. Something that won’t strangle him, cut into frail skin, that won’t make him feel like he needs to roll over and show his belly just to survive. _Because Steve will come. He will come and get him out and smile at him and hold him again._

Bucky didn’t know how long it would take.

His gaze had drifted down and he looks up again, breath slightly quickened, hands clenched into fists.

He holds his breath for a moment and slowly, deliberately exhales. Relaxes his hands. The carpet is soft under his toes. The last light of the day hides behind clouds. He’s home. Sitting on their bed. Safe.

He stands up and goes out of the room. Another day.

 

The next time he looks at it he’s sitting cross legged on the bed, a cup of coffee warming his hand.

When he saw the collar Steve wanted to show him, he knew it was the one.

Leather wrapped in the softest white velvet. Delicate, white lace on the outside, so intricate but somehow understated, so beautiful it had stolen Bucky’s breath away. A golden D-ring sat in the middle of the front, and maybe, _maybe_ , someday he’d be comfortable enough, sure enough of his presence in his body, traumas overcome to the point of letting Steve fasten a leash onto it.

He had felt strong arms wind around his waist, Steve’s chin on his shoulder.

“You will make this one even more beautiful. What do you think?”

It was exactly what he had wished for, when he lay in bed, too tired even for nightmares but unable to close his eyes, carefully intertwining his hand with Steve’s, slack from sleep.

“I want it.” His voice had cracked, lump in his throat suddenly because this would be _his_.

White holds a special place in their hearts and system. Meaning comfort and warmth, belonging and affection, home and love. It was the last color Bucky got comfortable using. Mind too much and too long at war to think any of those things were something he had a right to or deserved.

They use it more now. When the need to take care of or be taken care of, in the specific way the color dictates, is needed by one or both of them.

White is how Bucky dreams about what a collar must feel like. Untouched by the past, safe from the future, living in the moment when all that’s important is them. Belonging to Steve, the knowledge that he’s not being taken advantage of, sure and settled in his chest. Home spreading through his every fibre, banishing thoughts until the only ones remaining are soft and gentle and soothing, content lifting him to the surface of his body, aware of everything that is truly him and Steve and their love.

Bucky sees Steve out of the corner of his eye. He’s leaning against the doorway, hands in his pockets. Steve goes over to him when he notices that Bucky saw him. He kneels in front of Bucky, long fingers tucking some dark strands behind an ear before cupping his cheek. Bucky nuzzles into the warm palm, eyes closed.

“Dinner’s ready in a few.”

Bucky nods and opens his eyes again.

“I’ll be there.”

Steve stands up, smiles at him, all his love in his eyes, and kisses the crown of his head before going out of the room.

 

He’s kneeling at the dresser the next time he looks at it. Hands on the edge of the dresser, eyes level with the collar. He reaches out with one finger, hesitating before he touches the lace. It’s smooth and warms immediately to his touch, welcoming him, patiently sitting there and waiting for him until he’s ready.

Bucky smiles.

 

He sits on the floor, box open in front of him. He’s been looking at it and touching it for some time now. Hesitantly, he reaches out both hands. His fingers brush the satin bedding the collar lies on. The collar opens up to his touch, the velvet tender on the pads of his fingers, and he lifts it from the box.

It’s the first time he holds it. The weight is perfect, not heavy but enough to be an assurance that it’s there, grounding him.

He gets bold and holds it up to his neck, not letting it touch him yet because he wants that only happening when Steve puts it on him. He smiles. He will feel so--

 _Heavy steel around his neck, yanked around by the chain, icy water hits his body, drilling into his skin, slicing into wounds still healing, breaking them open again, blood mixing into the water, rushing along his body, and he wants to curl up and-- chain tightening, constricting, can’t breathe--_ No!

He rips the chain from his neck with a cry and the collar hits the wall with barely a sound before it lands on the floor.

Bucky stares in horror as the chain turns into white lace and velvet.

No… No no no no.

He scrambles after it, breath fast and panicked, scratching in his throat. He picks it up with trembling hands, shakily wipes off invisible dust.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

His own voice reaches his ears at the same time there’s a knock on the door and Steve’s worried voice asks him if everything is okay, Bucky, can I come in?

He can’t get control over his breathing, tears streaming down his face. He’s shaking all over, the sob trying to get out of his throat carrying Steve’s name.

He can’t do this, he can’t do this, he’s so sorry, so fucking sorry.

“Bucky, I’m coming in.”

The door opens a second later and Steve drops down in front of him, on his knees like Bucky.

“Deep breaths, Bucky, in and out. C'mon, like me.”

The calm authority in Steve’s voice makes his body want to obey him, recognizing him as safe and heart and home. He tries to gulp down air in a parody of Steve’s even breathing.

“Lay your hands on my chest if that is okay with you. Feel my breathing.”

His hands shake so much he wonders how they don’t just rattle off. He manages to lift them up, collar still in his grip, and feels the soft fabric of the henley Steve’s wearing.

The metal arm immediately notifies him about breathing and heart rate, body temperature. He hates it that this calms him down more than the breathing exercises.

“Can I touch you, Bucky?”

But just laying his hands on Steve is enough. His body feels like his skin wants to peel itself off to escape anymore contact with ice and water and hurt. He shakes his head mutely, still gasping.

He can hear the sigh although Steve does his best to suppress it.

Steve breathes with him for long moments until Bucky can feel his heart not trying to break out of his chest anymore.

His hands slip from Steve’s chest and land in his own lap again. It feels like his body is dragged to the floor, weights attached to each limb, utter exhaustion making it difficult to even blink. He just wants to sleep.

“Want to talk about it?”

His first instinct is to shake his head. Nothing’s wrong. Just an incident. Get the fuck over it already, Barnes…

But that’s not how it works anymore. Never worked, really, just brought more pain to their doorstep. Steve’s face flashes through his head from the first time he witnessed the end of a panic attack. Had laid his hands on Bucky’s shoulder, voice concerned and rapid and wanting to know, know, know. Bucky had roughly shoved him away, “ _Fuck off_!”, and Steve had stumbled backwards and fallen down, stunned and hurt, concerned and so incredibly helpless.

The guilt had swallowed Bucky whole. He didn’t mean-- But he did. Nerves hanging on a too-thin thread, skin crawling, muscles and joints locked up and itching, everything trying to get deeper inside him like it was the safest place to be. Bucky had laughed at that, still looking at Steve, sound harsh and short and desperate. Had run his hands over his face, feeling the tears on it, through his hair. Had turned around and run to his room, cowered into a corner and laughed so much and so hard until the laughs turned into cries, into sobs, into blank silence.

Bucky shakes his head. He doesn’t need memories of past panic attacks now.

Steve takes that as his answer, jaw trying not to clench, and nods resignedly.

“No! No, Steve, that wasn’t--”

He tries to put a stop to Steve’s thoughts before they can spiral but it costs him the little bit of strength he had managed to get back and he slumps forward, forehead pressed against his hands which still hold the collar in their grasp and he jerks back. No, no, no, he can’t make it dirty with his tears-- and, God, how messed up is he? His muscles feel sluggish, bones too heavy. He just wants to _sleep_.

Bucky sighs and reaches for the box, toppled over in his scramble for the collar. He glances up at Steve quickly as he carefully puts the collar back into the box and closes it softly. The click is as loud as a bomb going off in his ears.

Steve is holding onto his patience with all he’s worth, Bucky can see that clearly on his face, in the way Steve’s fingers tense and relax, fiddle. Concerned about Bucky, wanting to help him, and it kills Bucky that Steve has so much to worry about him while dealing with his own issues on top of it. There are questions all over his face and admitting the answers makes Bucky’s stomach turn.

He clutches the box to his chest and takes a deep, ragged breath.

“I…I had a flashback. And I… Steve, I don’t think I can do this… I’m so sorry…”

Steve looks at him for a long moment, visibly going through things to say and discarding them. He sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead.

“Bucky, you know I respect every decision you make. But I… think that, maybe, this decision is borne out of fear. I see your struggle every time you look at it. But I also see your yearning. I know that I… reacted strongly when you presented the idea to me--”

Bucky snorts.

“You were a dick, you mean.”

Steve chuckles and winces, scratches his head.

“I was the biggest asshole to you about it. I’m still so sorry about that. Bucky, can I touch you?”

Bucky hesitantly holds out his right hand and Steve cradles it in his big palms.

“I see how much you want the collar. I see your smile after you succeed and take another step closer and my heart… It sings. I’m so proud of you, how far you’ve come. Please, just… take your time with it. There’s no hurry. This isn’t the first time you've hit a roadblock with it and you’ve overcome every single one so far. If you really don’t want to continue, that’s okay. I won’t ever be mad about that. I want you happy. That’s the most important thing to me. But I think the collar will make you happy, when you’re ready.”

He brings up Bucky’s hand and kisses the palm.

“The look in your eyes when you saw it in the shop… Your eyes glowed and I… I want that look in your eyes forever. You deserve this, Bucky, you’re worth it and so much more.”

“Am I really worth it?”

The answer is immediate and so strong in its conviction it makes Bucky’s head spin.

“Yes, you are.”

Steve rests Bucky’s hand against his sternum, stroking over the back of it.

“You belong right here. You made yourself a home in my heart and I don’t ever want you to leave it. You said to me that you want a collar from me to represent that. And now that I really understand, really get what it means to you, it would be my greatest honor to put this one on you. You belong to me. And I belong to you.”

Fresh tears are rolling down Bucky’s cheeks. He still feels heavy but the weight slowly gets lighter again. He can feel the smile on his lips, helpless with love but strong nonetheless. His voice is rough and shaky. 

“Geez, Rogers, there you go making me cry again.”

Steve grins at him and leans forward to drop a kiss on his forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“C'mon, let’s get you showered and some dinner in you.”

 

He tries again.

 

And again.

 

When Steve found him one time, cowering in a corner, knees against his chest, arms over his head in protection, and desperately trying not to make a sound, he had almost wanted Bucky to stop entirely himself. Eyes red and hands cradling Bucky’s face and come back, please, _come back to me_.

But it was like something broke away in Bucky then. Cutting like an exorcism. Like blackened, festering flesh was stripped from him, finally letting him heal this part of him.

 

Bucky stands in front of the mirror in their bedroom. He can’t help the smile that overtakes his face. He… he’s ready.

Months have passed since they’ve been in the shop. Since Steve showed him the collar that’s lying in the wooden box on their dresser. Gold ring and buckle polished and shining, almost looking proud of him. White lace inviting him tenderly, waiting patiently because it knows he’s finally there. Maybe he’s projecting a bit.

He fiddles with the lacing on each hip, the ends of the delicate bows going down to half of his thighs. White panties made of the softest silk, comfortably cool on his skin. He’s freshly showered, his hair is dried and layered in gentle waves, framing his face. He’s a bit surprised at the glow in his eyes. His fingers stroke over the tattoo on his Adonis line. Property of S.G.R. It’s softer looking now after all this time. The ink has settled into his skin, almost a mirror of him. His smile widens. He’s… he’s _happy_. He’s _ready_.

He pulls on one of Steve’s large sweatshirts and zips up the front. The ends of the lace bows poke out like a promise of what’s underneath.

He’s a bit nervous. Butterflies in his stomach, and he has to bury his face in the sleeves pulled over his hands. He laughs softly at himself, giddy in anticipation.

Steve is in the living room, flipping through the channels and grimacing at each one.

Bucky stands in the doorway for a minute, just studying him. Steve’s waiting for him like every time Bucky has gone into their bedroom to spend hours with the collar. It hasn’t been easy on him either. But the dark circles have steadily, if slowly, disappeared along with Bucky’s. It hits Bucky, all over again, how much he’s in love with Steve, how much Steve loves _him_. Never straying from his side, even with all the baggage between them. Always there for him, as Bucky tries to be there for Steve.

The minute is all it takes for Steve to notice his presence and he turns around on the couch, already smiling at him. His jaw drops slightly at seeing Bucky’s bare legs, the white underneath the soft sweatshirt before his lips bloom into this brilliant smile, unrestrained and free.

Bucky has to grin back, biting his lower lip, and he nods.

Steve scrambles off the couch comically fast, almost tripping as he rounds it. He stops himself, laughs at himself, shaking his head. He stands tall, rights his t-shirt, and walks the last steps at a more sedate pace.

He cups Bucky’s jaw in both hands, eyes searching for the answer to the question on his lips.

"Are you sure-- I mean-- You're ready?"

Bucky hauls him in for a kiss in response, unhurried and deep and as giddy as he feels until they can’t kiss for the smiles on their faces.

Steve takes his hand and leads him into the bedroom. He takes the box with his free hand and settles them down onto the plush carpet on the floor in front of the mirror. They’re both kneeling, Steve behind him.

Bucky sees and feels Steve’s arms wrap around him, pulling him to his broad chest. Steve locks their eyes in the mirror and he hugs him tightly for a moment.

"I’m so proud of you. Forever and always."

Steve loosens his arms around him and quickly pulls his t-shirt over his head before tugging down the zipper of Bucky’s sweatshirt and gently taking it off. He nuzzles into dark hair and presses a kiss to one shoulder.

Bucky’s lips start to hurt he’s smiling so much as Steve carefully takes the collar out of the box and opens the buckle.

His arms go around Bucky again, holding up the collar. His expression turns serious.

"I really am. So proud of you, of what you have achieved. I had a hard time understanding what the collar and all its implications meant to you at first. But I understand now. I am your home, as you are mine. You belong to me, as I do to you. You trust yourself with me, as I trust myself with you. Your mind is safe with me and I will do everything in my power to help you so that your mind is safe with you, too. I love you with all my heart and more.“

The determination and love in Steve’s eyes takes his breath away and he kneads his thighs with his hands where they’re resting.

"Would you do me the honor and let me put this collar on you?"

There are tears gathering in Bucky's eyes and he’s still smiling, pressing his lips together and biting his bottom lip. His voice sounds wet and happy and there’s a lump in his throat and it’s _happening_. He gets to have this, _they_ get to have this.

“Yes."

Steve’s smile is equally wet and brimming with happiness. He nods in acknowledgement and strokes Bucky’s hair away from his neck on one side. He lays the gentlest kiss on Bucky’s neck where the collar will be placed.

"Keep that one safe."

Blank little notes flash through Bucky's mind. A kiss pressed to the paper in secret. Folded up into a square, tucked into his breast pocket. _Keep it safe_.

His heart thumps in his chest. He will, he _will_.

He nods, eyes wide and locked onto Steve's, a breathy _yes_ leaving his lips.

The velvet is soft against his throat, cool but it warms immediately. Bucky has to close his eyes. It feels-- it’s everything that he dreamed of. Everything settles in him as Steve closes the buckle. His shoulders relax and his heart slows, beating steady and comfortable. The warmth that spreads through his body doesn’t tingle; it wraps itself around his body and soul, soothing every hurt, encouraging his muscles to relax, his mind to slow down. He’s bound to Steve. Fully and irrevocably. He has never felt this free before.

 _That's it._ Steve's voice. That's Steve's voice. _You're doing so good, Bucky. So good for me. Amazing and beautiful._

Minutes pass, although he doesn’t notice until his eyes flutter open, immediately looking into Steve’s eyes in the mirror.

"Hi, there."

Steve whispers the words, keeping the atmosphere between them tender and affectionate. His eyes shine with proudness and happiness and love. His hands stroke along Bucky’s arms.

Bucky turns around, a bit clumsy. It had been a surprise how ungainly his limbs would become when his mind felt at ease. He wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders and buries his face against his neck.

"Thank you."

Steve cards one hand through his hair and cups the back of his neck.

"I was right, you know? It’s even more beautiful on you."

Bucky kisses him. Puts all his love and gratefulness into it as he opens his mouth for Steve’s tongue. Languid and passionate, no hurry at all because they’ve got time.

Steve’s hands grip the underside of his thighs and Bucky wraps his legs around him as Steve stands up with Bucky safe in his arms. He walks them over to their bed and gently lowers Bucky onto the sheets, never breaking their kiss.

Bucky strokes over his chest and stomach down to the jeans Steve is wearing to open them. They shuffle around until the pants land on the floor beside the bed. Steve lowers himself until there’s no space between their bodies, rubbing their groins together. Their cocks stir, grow hard, blood rushing through their veins as they grind into each other. 

Bucky’s hands wander over Steve’s back, caressing every inch of skin they can reach. Steve’s fingers are tangled in dark hair, tilting his head to get them the deepest kisses possible.

The skin on his right hip heats up as Steve rubs a thumb along the tattoo.

“Mine."

“ _Yours_."

The bow of the panties loosens as Steve tugs at the lacing, brushing the skin underneath, and Bucky arches up, moans into their kiss. The silk is rubbing between them, getting as hot as their skin as their hips roll into each other, picking up the pace on their own.

They’re panting into each other's mouths, lips grazing. Steve’s eyes hold him spell-bound; he can’t look away but he doesn’t want to anyway.

The tipping point is almost unexpected but it rushes over them both, groins grinding harder together, chasing the fire, wanting to be consumed by it.

Bucky cries out, squeezing his eyes shut as the orgasm races through him. Steve buries his face in his neck, against the collar, and he’s gasping roughly, the feel of his lips around the collar has Bucky whining, tilting his head to press his neck against Steve’s mouth. _Mine_ in a husky whisper against his skin as Steve is clutching him to himself and his hips stutter, grind down as he comes between them.

They lie like that as they catch their breath until Steve rolls them onto their sides and gathers Bucky into his arms, stroking through his hair, little finger on the skin of his neck under the collar.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Steve's POV will return in White. And we'll get his thoughts on all that happened.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [frostbitebakery](http://www.frostbitebakery.tumblr.com)!


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